The Doldrums: The Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 11
Appointment with the devil (mf)
Author's note: Several months ago, I left off this story after chapter 9. Thanks to encouraging reader feedback, the muse returned. The story is finished.
Be warned that in the course of this romance, some intense, potentially disturbing scenes arise that are in keeping with the actions of an evil character. If you choose to proceed, please judge them in context of the full plot.
Both his lass and his boat were in the hands of the villainous Strachan.
Liam's heart was filled with cold resolve.
He was waiting in front of the livery stable when it opened, his breath clouding in the cold morning air. With his pocketful of gold, he was able to hire the strongest and fastest mount available. A sack of oats was purchased as well, and loaded into the saddle bag. He dared not try to replace the items he had laid out for the operation, back aboard the
Selkie
, nor to purchase finer clothes
;
'twas best to leave town straightaway.
He selected the shortest route out of Toronto, riding with his hand upon the gun in his coat pocket, not breathing easily till he was alone upon the road north, riding past fields and farmhouses. The last time he had ridden was nigh ten years ago, when a lad in Carrickfergus, but immediately upon swinging his leg over, it all came back to him. With a twinge, he recalled gallops along rugged cliffs overlooking the North Channel. How he would love to show Anya a certain misty woods...to take her down upon the moss and lie between her open thighs, feeding dreamily upon her mouth while the faerie enchantment transported their joined bodies...
Having shouldered on after the loss of his father, his family's land, his homeland, his apprenticeship, and his esteemed mentor, he had considered himself invulnerable to further pain. But now the loss be too profound. For the first time, he was determined to not simply accept what Fate threw his way. No longer did he permit himself to brood over what was happening at the Bourget house, about Strachan's movements. All his focus be upon his own next action --- and the future that was fast bearing down upon him.
He covered the miles to Markham with the stallion at a trot. In nigh three hours, the farmland gave way to gristmills, sawmills, warehouses and buildings. Presently he found himself in the town center, where an array of maple trees formed an orange-red canopy over the square. A man sweeping leaves from the general store walkway gave him directions to Brock Hall.
'Twas upon the east side of town, proving to be a brick building upon an expansive lawn, perhaps three acres square. He reigned the horse to a halt and surveyed the school from across the street. A stately affair it was --- four stories high, with a row of white columns along the front. The grounds were enclosed by a tall wrought iron fence, not unlike that at the Bourget house. He tapped his heels to the horse's flanks, and at a walk, made a circuit of the place along the surrounding streets.
The building and grounds were almost without activity, till he rode past the back of the property and noted a man repairing a carriage wheel in front of an enormous stable. Opposite the school, the streets were lined with modest sized houses and cottages, and scattered carriages and people on foot were about. As Liam rounded the northeast corner and approached the front gate, two men standing upon the street attracted his attention.
They were standing near the closed drive gate of the school, but in their civilian attire, did not appear to be associated with the institution. Nor did they fit in with the background populace, for they were simply standing silently by. Not quite aimlessly though, he sensed as he neared, for they were clearly observing the action round them. They were dressed in suits, but their demeanor did not mark them as gentlemen. As Liam was contemplating them, a brougham drew up along the curb near the gate, and a well-dressed man in a dark cloak stepped down. The two men hastened over to him.
Curious, Liam pulled to a stop across the street from them and dismounted where the parked carriage shielded him from their notice. One by one he lifted his horse's hooves and pretended to be checking them for stones. He was close enough to make out most of their conversation.
"Not a sign of him, sir, and no letters or telegrams."
"And the girl?"
There was a pause.
"Did you get the description from Williams? Dark brown hair, brown eyes --- dainty little thing, beautiful."
"No," the two men answered in unison.
'Twas Anya's stepfather, the bastard! It had to be!
"She may try to come here. If you see either of them, snatch them up at once and wire me. I'm staying at the Queen's Hotel in Toronto."
"Yes, sir."
"And be sure to tell Schmidt and Davis too."
One of the men said something --- Liam couldn't quite make it out.
"They're keeping watch in Toronto," said the stepfather.
Liam mounted the horse again and started him walking. He had a look at the stepfather as he climbed back into the carriage: nigh Strachan's age, but taller; medium build, sandy brown moustache and mutton chops. Liam followed the brougham from a discreet distance, seeing it leave town upon the road that he had arrived on.
Pondering this development, he reasoned that if the stepfather's thugs were watching the school, then they were likely unaware of the skirmish drill, or didn't ken where it be. Either way, he concluded, it altered not his own plans --- he did not intend to seek out information at the school proper.
Back upon the town square, he found a tavern and went inside. 'Twas a lively establishment, filled with working men finishing their mid-day meal. Liam took a seat at the bar and ordered a pint of ale and a bowl of oyster chowder. The barkeep was busy at his service, so Liam waited awhile till the patrons started to thin out. The man was washing glasses behind the bar when he spoke up.
"Are ye familiar with Brock Hall, sir?"
The man glanced up. "It depends --- I know where it is, and the like. I don't mix with the lot; too rich for my blood."
Liam nodded. "I'm sent from Toronto with a message for one of the pupils from his uncle. I'm told that they're all out on a field mission. Do ye ken where that would be?"
The man shook his head. "I've heard of that; apparently it's an annual training exercise. But I don't know where it is." He started wiping a glass. "You know who might be able to help? Tom Neal, the butcher. His son works at the hall."
"Where can I find him?"
"Around the corner on Second Street."
